


Ensnared

by AngelofDarkness1605



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-09-08 09:52:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8839987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelofDarkness1605/pseuds/AngelofDarkness1605
Summary: Mr. Gold gets a not entirely unwelcome unpleasant surprise while he and his son are watching a group of kitesurfers on the beach.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Inkfire for the wonderful beta work.

"This is _awesome_ ," Neal exclaims, almost breathless as he watches the dozens of kitesurfers at work on the local waves.

"They are quite impressive," Mr. Gold agrees, inwardly grateful that he allowed his son to talk him into going here in the first place.

The wind is punishing and the weather seems to think it's autumn rather than summer, sand blowing almost painfully over the beach where they are standing. Still, the sight it offers is spectacular, the strong wind creating a perfect playground for the kitesurfers.

Although he's thrilled that Neal enjoys this so much, the landlord is also grateful for the distraction for his own sake. Just this morning, Belle French almost literally ran into him at Granny's. He stumbled and _stuttered_ when attempting to deflect her unnecessary apologies for her admittedly rash and absent-minded approach.

Indeed, it's for the best not to think of the incredibly kind and _very_ beautiful woman. Wishful thinking will only lead to humiliation and heartbreak, for there is _no way_ she can be even remotely interested in him as well.

"Look at the one with the blue and yellow kite!" his son yells excitedly, breaking his line of thought by pointing at the figure in question as it makes a particularly awe-inspiring jump.

Most kitesurfers are so far out in the sea that it's difficult to make out individuals in their practically identical wetsuits, but Mr. Gold has also had his eyes on the figure with that particular kite. Given this person's height, he or she is probably a teenager, a young one at that, their lack of weight allowing them to make jumps that are yet more excellent than the others'.

It's quite a disappointment when that very kitesurfer heads back to the beach a few minutes later, clearly done for the day. Luckily there are still plenty of others, who are less talented but still very entertaining to watch. Father and son happily take in the sight of them, oblivious to the hustle and bustle of the kitesurfers either preparing or clearing up their gear on the beach around them.

The quiet display is abruptly interrupted, only a female shriek warning him of the approaching danger. His attention drawn from the kitesurfers in the water after all, Mr. Gold turns just in time to see that one of the surfers on the beach has partially lost control over their kite. It's already past them, but that doesn't go for the lines which are still connected to the huge kite.

Those lines move with a terrifying speed and look awfully sharp, pulling a seemingly abandoned kiteboard with them… and they're heading straight for Neal. Acting purely on instinct and sudden adrenaline, the landlord steps between the approaching lines and his son, protecting the boy with his own body.

The landlord is pulled into the sand a fraction of a second later, hitting the unforgiving surface face-first when the lines get caught around his body.

" _Papa!_ " his son shrieks, rushing to his side.

Mr. Gold is aware of the boy's small hands trying to pull him out of the sand, but he can't get up or even turn around. The lines of the kite keep him down, cutting into his clothes even now. There's shouting and rushed movements around him, but the landlord barely notices. His face is still pressed into the sand and he can't see, he can't _breathe_ …

Just as unexpectedly as it came, the pressure disappears. Someone rolls him onto his side, wiping the sand from his face, but the harsh wind only makes things worse. He gasps, coughs, but none of it makes a difference.

He is moved again a few seconds later, two pairs of hands pulling him partially upwards. It only causes him to tense further to know that at least one stranger is handling him like this. But he can breathe again at any rate, the people who helped him having somehow managed to get him out of the wind so soon.

"Are you all right, papa?!"

Mr. Gold nods weakly in response. He feels awful and it seems like the sand has even gotten into his windpipe, but that will probably pass sooner or later. Best not to worry his son.

"Miss French is here, she's taking good care of you," Neal adds, clearly not satisfied with his father's answer.

As if all of this wasn't unpleasant enough yet, he is far from comforted by this news. He doesn't want anyone to see him in this undignified place, _especially_ not Belle French. It's bad enough that she has unknowingly stolen his heart and that she can't possibly feel the same way; but for her to actually see him like this…

Gradually, he becomes aware that he's leaning against something that's both warm and cold… something _soft_ and slightly curvaceous. When the shape wraps a careful arm around him, he realizes that he's in fact being held by the librarian, her body shielding his from the wind and his head resting on her chest.

Instinctively, he tries to get away from her, not wanting her to see him like this and especially to feel obliged to do this. Still unable to open his eyes or breathe freely, the landlord attempts to roll away from her wholly undeserved care.

"No, papa, don't move!" Neal cries out, the sound only barely audible over the wind that's now howling in his ears once more.

His lungs desperate for air, all he can do is let the two of them drag him back against Belle French, his son sitting down right next to her to expand the area of relative calmness she provides against the wind.

"I'm so, _so_ sorry Mr. Gold. I know that you don't want this, but you might be hurt and I can't let you walk away like this. You have to start breathing properly again and we have to check for injuries. I can't tell you how _sorry_ I am for not paying enough attention to my kite and letting it…"

"It's no matter," he croaks, finding that even saying those words takes a huge effort.

"You _do_ know that the kite which hit you is mine, don't you?"

"I gathered," he manages to add, knowing that there's _no way_ she would be so worried about his welfare if the negative impact on it hadn't been caused by herself.

"I know there's no way I can make this right, and I don't even know…"

"Don't worry, Miss French. I'm not going to sue you."

 _Although I definitely could_ , he can't help but think. _I probably_ should.

"It's not that!" she cries out, as if the thought hadn't even occurred to her. "I'm worried about _you!_ "

"There really is no need," he mutters.

In fact, once he gradually relaxes and finds that his head is in fact resting on her lap, knowing that she somehow doesn't _mind_ , these proceedings suddenly no longer feel nearly as unpleasant as they seemed before.

Indeed, the pain and discomfort are almost entirely forgotten when Belle wipes the sand out of his face and hair, her hands tender and careful even as they all but caress _him_ , the most loathed man in town.

Before he knows it, Mr. Gold is breathing freely once more, although he's starting to get breathless for a whole different reason. Now that the sand is gone, he can actually open his eyes again as well. However, almost as soon as he has done so, he closes them again, horrified by what he has seen.

The view is actually one of the best he has ever had in his lifetime, but glancing up Belle's wetsuit-clad body is one of the many pleasures which are not meant for him. Besides, knowing that she somehow approves of this, it's a blessing in its own right to lie here with her like this. He has no idea why, but she's still caressing his hair, her touch almost loving, which makes the current circumstances better yet.

"That's much better, isn't it? Take your time catching your breath and relaxing again."

Now that he has her permission, he does just that, moving a few inches closer to her. He's oblivious to the hard sand underneath him or even the chilliness of her wetsuit. After all, he can feel the heat of her body underneath and she's still running her hands through his hair. Not a single piece of expensive furniture in his house is nearly as comfortable as this.

There's a disturbance a little while later. It appears that Belle is approached by a few people with whom she exchanges some words, but all the landlord cares about is staying in the small bit of paradise which she has made there in the sand with nothing but her body.

"I'm very glad your gear hasn't broken despite all this, Miss French," Neal says after a while from his spot at the librarian's side.

Mr. Gold is also grateful for that, if only because he doesn't have to explain to anyone, especially himself, why he would have been happy to pay for any damage to her effects in case they _had_ been ruined in their collision with him.

"So that blue and yellow kite is yours?" Neal asks, the excitement in his voice rousing Gold.

"Yes, it is," she replies. "Do you like those colors?"

"They're fine, I guess. It's just that papa and I were admiring the kitesurfer with those colors just a short while ago."

"You were?" she asks, rather excitedly, as if she _enjoys_ the notion of them appreciating her skills. "That must have been me. I'm the only one with a kite of those two colors."

The landlord was quite certain that she couldn't unknowingly impress him yet more than she had already done by simply being who she is, but here they are.

"So that was you?" the boy asks, almost reverently. " _Cool_."

"Very impressive, Miss French," the landlord adds, needing her to know that he thinks very highly of her accomplishments as well.

"Thanks! It was such a lovely surprise to see the two of you here on the beach, by the way. I had never seen you here before and I didn't think I ever would."

"It was a lovely surprise to you for us to be here?" Neal repeats questioningly. There's an edge to his voice which his father doesn't quite like.

"Definitely, yes! My favorite young library patron and my favorite antiquities dealer!"

Mr. Gold is quite certain that he has never been someone's favorite _anything_. He has no idea whatsoever what makes Belle says this; if he didn't know any better, he'd think that _she_ is the one who was just in an accident of sorts. Still, her words only further add to the strange, warm feeling deep inside him.

"In fact, the reason I lost control over that kite… I feel so silly, but I might as well tell you. You see, rather than clearing up my gear straight away, I figured that you might want to take a look at it. I mean, you might like it, since you were here watching?"

"I don't think papa is all that interested in _kitesurfing_ ," Neal snickers, much to his father's frustration and panic. "But I am! I think it's awesome."

"See? I thought you were!" Belle continues after a brief hesitation, his son's earlier remark clearly having caught her off guard. He can only be grateful that she doesn't seem to understand what the boy is referring to. If she _had_ , there'd be _no way_ she'd still be touching him right now. "I wanted to ask you if you'd like to take a look at the kite and the board, so I left them on the beach for the time being while trying to get your attention. Obviously, I didn't put enough sand on the kite to keep it stable while I did that."

"I'd _love_ to take a look at your kitesurf stuff, Miss French!"

"You can, if you like! Although it's probably best not to do so today. Maybe next week? I'm here every Saturday afternoon."

"Awesome! I'd like that."

"You're more than welcome to take a look then! Your father too, of course."

Usually, Mr. Gold would remind the two of them that they can't make arrangements like this without his permission, not while his son is still so young, but in this case he thinks better of that. He trusts the librarian to look after his boy even without his own presence and besides, he can't help but be grateful that she has invited him as well.

Listening to her and Neal talk about her favorite sport sounds like a wonderful opportunity to the landlord, especially if he doesn't have to try to talk to her himself. It will of course never be as pleasant as _this_ , nothing will probably ever be, but it's a thrilling prospect in its own right.

"I've got a terrible habit of literally bumping into you today, don't I?" she asks softly, running one of her hands up and down his arm as if to ensure herself that he's still in one piece.

"It's quite all right, Miss French. Really."

"It only makes me more worried when you say that," she sighs, brushing the back of her hand against his forehead as if to check his temperature.

Gold sighs happily at this new touch, unable to prevent his eyes from fluttering closed.

"Well, papa _is_ quite fond of you," Neal chimes in, much to his father's chagrin.

"Oh," Belle replies, sounding more pleased than anything else. "That's… well, that feeling is mutual."

Bewildered by those words and the sentiment which apparently fuels them, all the landlord can do is remain still, as if clinging to a highly enjoyable and unlikely dream. The discovery that his son—and now Belle herself!—know about his fondness for her doesn't seem nearly as disastrous as it probably should have.

Mr. Gold could have stayed like that for a very long time, especially since the librarian, for some reason, never ceases to touch him in one way or another. But when the body practically cradling him begins to shiver, he recalls that they are in fact in the middle of a windy beach. He may barely be able to feel the wind like this, but she in all likelihood very much does.

"I'm quite certain I'll be fine now, Miss French," he says, reluctantly moving to get up. "Thank you very much for your good care."

By the time he is standing on his legs once more, aided by his son, he finds the librarian hugging herself, quivering more than before.

"It's quite cold outside the water," she says, as if only realizing just how chilly it is when she isn't touching him any longer.

"Do you need assistance, Miss French?" he asks, overcome by an irrational need to help her, to hopefully fully reciprocate the care she just provided for him.

"Can you get me my towel?" she asks, gesturing at the sports bag standing a few feet away, doubtlessly left there by one of her fellow kitesurfers.

The landlord nods in response, but before he can head towards it, Neal has already done so and hands him the item in question. He might as well have given it to her directly, but Mr. Gold is rather pleased that he can hand it to her instead, especially when she rewards both of them with a smile. Her smile falls, however, when she puts the towel to her hair in an attempt to dry it, grimacing when she finds that it's covered in sand.

"Could you… could you get the zipper?" she asks instead, gesturing at the back of her wetsuit.

Mr. Gold nods, reaching for it as she turns around to grant him better access. Swallowing heavily, he watches how she swipes her braided and still wet hair out of the way, revealing the elegant column of her neck to him.

"Just pull it down, if you don't mind?"

He doesn't quite know what he was expecting when he does as she asks, but the possibility that she would hardly be wearing anything much underneath had not occurred to him. His breath becoming labored in a way that has nothing to do with sand or wind, he falters to stare at the incredible sight.

"Is the zipper stuck?" she asks in reaction to his lack of progress. "It should go all the way down to my lower back."

"No, the zipper isn't stuck," Neal says cheekily, "but I think that papa is."

Glancing darkly at his son, the landlord pulls the zipper abruptly all the way down, deciding that it would be worse to let her know how he reacts to her than not to apply the care which he deems necessary for this particular task.

She may appear to wear a bikini underneath the wetsuit, but all that registers in his brain are the countless inches of pale bare skin which he has revealed. Once more, he can only stare at all the beauty before him as she tries to single-handedly get out of the restrictive and still damp suit.

"You should help her," his boy whispers urgently to him. "She's cold and I think she _likes_ it when you help her with this; she _smiled_ when you were undoing the zipper."

Mr. Gold highly doubts that she _enjoys_ having him anywhere near her at any given time, let alone in this state. But it's obvious to him as well that she's struggling and that she has to get into warm and dry clothes quickly.

"I'll assist you, if you don't mind," he says, trembling himself when he parts the two halves of her wetsuit, baring yet more of her back. "Shall I… shall I pull these from your arms?"

"Yes, please," she replies, her teeth audibly clattering.

Reminding himself that her health is paramount, he carefully pulls the damp fabric from her arms, making certain not to look at the skin he reveals.

"I could get used to this," she says, as if she _likes_ that he is for all intents and purposes undressing her.

"So could I," he can't help but mutter, despite himself staring once more at her smooth, creamy skin in awe.

"Well, you can," she says, glancing at him over her shoulder. "Like I said, I do this every Saturday."

"I… I would like that," he says, barely aware of the words leaving his mouth now that he finds himself in this situation with her.

Between the two of them and their respective distraction, they manage to get the wetsuit down to her waist. At that point it only seems natural for him to kneel down at her side when he realizes that she continues to require his assistance, pulling it down the rest of her body.

Not allowing himself to acknowledge how _right_ it feels to practically kneel down at her feet, he makes certain not to look at her now that they have reached this phase, his face mere inches away from her bikini-clad buttocks.

Belle is shivering yet more badly by the time she is finally freed from her wetsuit. He doesn't think twice as he stands up and shrugs out of his sandy suit jacket to wrap it around her for warmth, a quick glance at her bag informing him that there isn't anything suitable enough in there.

"Much better," she says, smiling at him.

Oblivious to the way his son is triumphantly smirking at the two of them, Mr. Gold happily complies as she requests him to rub his hands over her arms through the coat for additional warmth. They simultaneously seem to realize that the jacket is damaged, no doubt by the ropes of the kite.

"I'm so sorry. Of course I'll pay for any damages I…"

"Nonsense," he says brusquely, ready to combust when her hands flutter over his dress shirt at the same time as if to check for additional damage to his clothing… or to _him_.

"She's going to have to take your clothes off to make sure you aren't hurt," Neal says, beaming at the prospect. " _All_ of them."

"That's quite a good idea, actually," she replies before he can scold his son for making such an inappropriate remark, her hands coming to rest on his shoulders.

"Let's get you out of the cold first," he says after a long moment of hesitation, not knowing how else to reply to this… how to tell her that he feels _fine_ and, much more importantly, that he can't accept her attention without accidentally offending her in the process—or revealing his fondness for her. "My car is parked only a short distance from here. There's a big bath in our house that you can use if you…"

He falters, realizing too late how utterly ridiculous his offer is. After all, no matter how cold she might be, how can she possibly accept a car ride from the most loathed and feared man in town, let alone take a _bath_ in his house…

"That sounds lovely," she says, still smiling.

The warmth of her hands, which are for some reason still on his shoulders, burns through his clothing; so much stronger than the ropes of the kite which got them into this situation in the first place, but certainly not less terrifying, if wonderfully so.

"Let's hope that you don't freeze without your coat on our way home, papa," Neal says mischievously. "Or else Miss French and you will have to take a bath _together_."

Once more, Mr. Gold tenses in response to the boy's inane and completely uncalled for cheek, too stunned to inform both his son and the librarian that there is more than one bathing facility at their home if they were to need those.

But rather than being outraged as well, she merely raises an eyebrow. He has no idea what to make of her expression, beyond bewildered already that his son's remarks haven't sent her running for the hills.

Still, he's definitely _not_ getting into a bathtub with her. After all, there's _no way_ that Belle can possibly want something like that. Still, as she links her arm with his when they head towards his car, there's something in her eyes which tells him that maybe, just maybe, she might ask him to do exactly that.


End file.
